


Apartment

by hikarufly



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: I took inspiration from the song "Apartment" by Young the Giant. Something is wrong and it has been since Peter and Jenna stopped working together. There is a big elephant in the room and they need to acknowledge it, at least, to move on. If they want to move on.I am not fond of Actors fanfiction, (because the actor's private life is private, alright?), but I had this idea so I am treating this as an AU, and I hope you enjoy!Every chapter is inspired/associated with a song you can listen to while you read.English is not my first language.





	1. Apartment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cappyforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cappyforever/gifts), [Naphta85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphta85/gifts).



Peter got out of his apartment. The winter day was cold but sharp, its grey light brighter than expected. There was no snow or rain on the road and pavement, nor coming down from the skies.

Yet, the cold he felt had nothing to do with the temperature. He closed his coat even tighter, as trying to hug himself. He turned as soon as he got out of the front door, in the not-so-busy street of Soho where he was staying.

He got to Oxford Circus passing the weekly street market, not paying attention to anyone or anything, that returned his care in the same way, ignoring him. Peter got on a double-decker bus, paid his ticket and headed upstairs. He sat almost at the back, but not on the last seat. He picked up his notebook from his inner pocket, and a pen. The silence was unbearable, and fearful. He wrote down words and words that made all the sense in the world, and at the same time none at all.

He got to Victoria station, and the hustle and bustle made him feel even lonelier. He checked the train schedule and tried to buy the ticket on his smartphone. After he realised he was definitely failing, he got to the ticket office, reluctant to speak to anyone but forced to. He remained polite, though, he couldn't help it. With his ticket hidden in his notebook, he got to the platform just in time for the 4:30p.m. train to Brighton.

He watched the landscape turning from city to countryside, the horizon from sky to sea. Taking his notebook again, he dismissed his own handwriting, and started to draw. Scenery was not his thing, but faces... those were another story entirely. He fixed his gaze on a woman opposite him, but the shape on paper was not hers.

Peter crossed the entire station and walked about town while the sun was setting down. Still one month away from the solstice, the day was getting shorter. He found the deserted winter seaside at dusk, and stood there, in the colder and stronger wind of the coast, battling his curls as he heard the rumble of sea waves. He went down the beach, in his coat. What the hell was he doing there? He asked himself.

Back to the pavement, he perfectly knew where to go, and at the same time understood he shouldn't. He got to a small, detached house. It was a two-storey building, with a windowsill on the upper and lower floor, and a dark door under a porch-roof.

He got to it and rang the doorbell. He was about to run away, but then someone opened. Shorter than him, wide-eyed and with her hair loose, Jenna was surprised and seemed speechless. She wore a big jumper, sweatpants and huge socks. After a moment, she put her arms around herself as to hug herself, and tried not to look at him directly.

«Hi.» he managed to say. She did not reply, but looked at him as he turned away for a moment. Their eyes did not meet.

«What are you doing here, Peter?» she asked, with a tone that was more frustrated than she anticipated.

«I...» he started to say, but could not recollect the rest of his sentence. «Is he here?» he asked, instead. Jenna raised her eyebrows and looked straight at him.

«Excuse me?» she replied. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but was definitely fighting to keep himself together. She looked around for a moment, and finally gestured him to come in.

«I am alone, if this is what you were asking. Come in, you'll catch your death... and the paparazzi might catch you.»

He followed her in, and she closed the door behind him. He looked at her as he had done more than once before, and Jenna felt her cheeks reddening.

«You can take your coat off, if you want.» she murmured. «Would you... would you like a cup of tea or something?» she continued. The tension was so high it was difficult to speak.

«This is absurd, I shouldn't have come at all.» he replied, and turned to get away, but she stopped him. She caught his wrist and made him turn towards her. She then took the lapels of his coat and made him lean down to kiss her. He did not give her time to overthink it or change her mind, for he kissed her back immediately, giving way to all the thoughts that had accompanied him on the journey to Brighton.

She helped him get rid of that coat, and they helped each other taking off their jumpers – he had the holey one she loathed and loved at the same time. Her sweatpants were easy to take off, as they moved together, clumsy but determined, towards the little parlour at the front of the house. She struggled with his belt, but finally she had the better of it. His Black Star t-shirt was as thin as the top she was wearing, and both were the only layers of cloth separating their chests. He took off his boots and socks, and then she dragged him further into the room, both barefoot now. Jenna helped him with his black jeans and stopped kissing only to get rid of each other's t-shirts. She had her back against the bookshelves she had packed with paperbacks, and was desperate not to be too separated from him. She clung onto his skin leaving red marks on his back, while the tip of her fingers became white in the effort. His whole, thin self was against her, while he sustained her against the bookcase, kissing her lips and her neck, just below her ear, drowning in her own perfume. Desperate from her own longing, feeling him getting harder against her thigh, she decided to remove their underwear, completely forgetful of protection. She did not concern herself for privacy any more: the curtains were covering the open windows, and that particular point in the room was not facing any of those.

She locked her legs around his hips, and begged him in a sigh, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, judging by its speed. He found his way inside her with a thrust, that pulled out their moans from the back of their throat. By that moment, his worries and mere thoughts were evaporated. Even in his wildest passion, he remained a gentleman until he could. He moved firmly but not brutally, but then, when they were both near climax, his pushes left her marks of the bookshelves on her back. She came a moment earlier than him, breathless and covered in a thin layer of sweat, just as he was.

It took long moments for them to regain themselves enough to crash onto the sofa. As she tried to get closer to him, his ways had the better of him. Peter stood up and took their underwear and the first T-shirt he could find scattered around, in this case his. Jenna took her own knickers from him , feeling slightly ashamed, but grateful for his concern, and put them on as he did the same with his own black boxer briefs. She thought the shirt was for him, but he offered it to her, as to cover her up as he sat next to her. Jenna was lost for a moment, not anticipating such a though on his part. She put it on, and when she smelt his own perfume she sat on his lap and hugged him tightly, trying not to cry.

When their hearts beat at the same, slower pace, she let go of that tight embrace and, putting her hair behind her left ear in a nervous move, looked at him in anticipation. She didn't know what to do, and he seemed lost for words too.

«I think I'd like that cup of tea now. We both could do with one. Each. One cup each.» he explained, awkwardly. She giggled, as she had done many times when they worked together. She stood up and offered him a hand as he stood too. Taking two of his fingers with all her own, they both went to the kitchen. The furniture was white against a blue wall, with a thin isle at the middle of it. In silence, she put the electric kettle on and put two identical white mugs on the isle, sitting opposite him on white stools.

«Ikea?» he asked.

«I just moved in, and books were the priority. But I will get funny ones.» she explained. «What do you fancy? I only got Yorkshire tea...» she started to say, looking inside the cupboard on her tiptoes, as it was quite high. «Assam and this Clipper everyday tea... I liked the packaging so I bought it.»

He stood up and took the last box she talked about without effort, for he was way taller than her. Jenna took it from his hands.

«Thanks.» she whispered. «I could have managed... but thanks.»

He said it was no bother, but his words were lost in the steam of the kettle. She put the boiling water in both cups and one teabag each.

«Milk and sugar, right?» she asked. Peter nodded.

«As ever.» he replied, as she put way more sugar in his mug than hers. She put her hands around the cup as he did, as they both searched for comfort rather than warmth. He seemed completely unaware of the temperature, his clear skin almost translucent, while she shivered a little.

After sipping their tea and deciding that a few minutes of comforting silence was enough, she took his hand again.

«Stay. Just for tonight.» she begged him, as her lip trembled slightly. He weighted the possibility and nodded, smiling a little. Gesturing him to take his mug, she walked him upstairs by the same two fingers in her own hand. With the happiness of a child, and the heart of a woman.

 


	2. Apartment (reprise)

Peter lay on his back, his hands behind his head. He was awake, sleepless, barely covered by a pastel-coloured duvet. By his side, on the same king size bed, Jenna slept peacefully in his Bowie T-shirt. She had curled herself up, like a kitten or a small girl, next to him but not over him, her gentle breath slow and regular in her sleep. She had murmured something, but nothing of significance.

He could hear the coast in the night. The swirling of the sea over the shore, the undertow of the sea, the light yet screeching sound of the seagulls.

What possessed him to go to her? Was the situation not bad enough as it was, without him rushing to her and even sleep with her? He thought about his daughter, and how and what could she think of him, if she knew. Born in 1992, was old enough to be her own person and maybe know more than him about relationship and sex. He tried to discard that thought, even if he perfectly knew she had a boyfriend and they could not be just keeping each other company on Saturday nights. He tried to find solace in the idea that, at least, Jenna was older than her.

His ideas began to loose themselves as he felt the girl moving next to him. She got closer and took a deep breath, as she woke up but did not open her eyes. She put her head on the crook of his neck and a hand on his chest. He instinctively embraced her, leaving only one arm and hand behind his head. He turned on a little light by the bed, very low but letting them see each other.

«I dreamt about that painting...» she murmured, in a drowsy voice.

«What painting?» he asked, as she hugged him too.

«The one we saw in Berlin... in that Gallery...» Jenna continued, still keeping her eyes closed «With an Island and a little boat going towards it...»

Peter tried to recall.

«The Isle of the Dead? By Arnold Böcklin?» he inquired.

«Yes... I think so.» she confirmed, taking another big breath and opening her eyes. «I dreamt I was driving the boat, and you were on it, all dressed in black... and then I got to the island and you were there too, but with a white tunic.»

«You carved a boat to sell my shadow...» Peter murmured, and Jenna frowned, looking at him, puzzled.

«Oh, it's just a song I heard.» he replied, as she tightened her embrace.

«Why did you come, Peter?» she asked, after a few moments.

He sighed.

«You argued with your wife again?» she continued, getting visibly nervous. The ironically cruel thing was that she liked Elaine a lot, and Elaine liked her from the start.

«No, not again.» he explained, caressing her back. «We are past arguing, now.»

Jenna closed her eyes and threw back down the lump that was getting to her throat.

«I decided to leave the production.» he finally said. Jenna looked directly in his eyes, standing a bit from his chest.

«You are leaving the production?» she asked, completely incredulous. «But you love it! I thought you were going to stay on at least as long as Tom Baker.»

«I loved it, yes. And I still do. But...» he slightly shook his head. «You left. And Steven is leaving. It's not like it was before, and I want it to be the best in my memory as in the audience's one.»

She found that notion hitting her like a car. She moved up, sitting on the bed and getting her hair behind her ear, in an instinctive move. He sat up too.

«I thought Pearl...» she began to say. She stopped: she didn't want to sound wrong.

«Pearl is a great actress, and we do get along, personally and professionally. But she's not you.» he admitted, out loud, and feeling it even more strongly. Jenna felt like crying again, but it was strong emotion doing that trick

«You can't leave the job you dreamt of since you were a kid just because of me.» she begged him, as she wanted to convince him to continue having fun, even if she had to force him to.

«It's not just because of you, Jenna.» he explained.

«But I had a part in your decision, a big part.» she replied.

He felt himself caught, so he did not say anything.

«I know things will never get back to what they were, not even with Michelle, and she's brilliant.» he tried to continue. Jenna nodded.

«She's a force of nature.» she smiled a little. He imitated her.

«I need to move on, or I'll sink into this pit even more. At least, I can control my job, if I cannot take a decision on my life.» he continued, discouraged. That tone really hurt her, for she knew how hard it was for him, and that she could do very little to help.

«You still love you wife.» she whispered, and it was not a question, not at all.

«Yes.» he confirmed to her. «Nothing can take those twenty-three years away, nothing. Not even what we have. She has always supported me, loved me and cherished me at her best. And I will always love her for it.»

She sighed, because she knew he was right and he was honest.

«I don't know what to do, Jenna. I really don't.» he said, as he wanted to add that she could not even consider to divorce the wife she loved, and at the same time he just wanted to stay in that small Brighton house with that girl so much younger than him.

«You asked me of Tom, before. If he was here.» she decided to say, after a while. «It's not... we date, sometimes, but... it seems not to get on from there.»

He looked at her in silence, but somehow something inside him got less tense.

«I know this isn't helping, but it's true and I felt like you should know.»

Peter found himself smiling, for her demeanour, her face, and her tone were so cute she couldn't help it. Jenna smiled back and cupped his face, before loosing her fingers between his curls.

«Your hair is longer... wilder.» she said.

He closed his eyes and cherished that moment. She took care of him like she seldom had the chance to do. She made him lay down again, playing with his hair and almost mapping his chest, under his attentive yet calm scrutiny.

«Have you been visiting?» he then asked, for as he relaxed, he decided to forget the problems for a moment, and concentrate really on her.

«Visiting Brighton?» she frowned, but smiling.

«Yeah. You know, the Pier, the Pavillion... touristy stuff.» he explained. She smiled more broadly, amused.

«Not these days, but I've been to Brighton before.» she told him. «I've never been to the Pavillion, though. Isn't it too “loud”? Eccentric?»

«Well, it's very eccentric, but that's the fun of it.» he replied.

«Maybe... you could take me.» she proposed, trying to sound casual. She didn't want to think about paparazzi or anything, not now.

«Why not?» he simply said, avoiding the same thought. «During the season, when the weather is right.»

She was about to suggest that they had a date, but she did not say it out loud. She didn't want to spoil the moment. Instead, she moved even closer to him, first leaning on his chest and then slightly over him. She began to kiss his neck, and after a few moments they both let go of anxieties and worries. They had time, and if they did not, they would make time.

He let his hands under the T-shirt she had on and helped her take it off, stopping her kisses only to get rid of that. They took off the only other piece of clothing they had, while dawn starting to break the darkness, the light making its way through the heavy curtains. She waited for him to sit up again, and, keeping her hands on his chest, she gestured him to open his legs and mounted on top of him, her legs open, bent and firm against his hips, her arms on his back. He grabbed her sides too and kissed her, lips against lips, tongue battling tongue. There was nothing lascivious or vulgar in their ways, but they clearly could have set something on fire with their presence. Respect was something they had developed from the start in their relationship, at first only on a professional layer, and than in every other aspect.

His hands moved slowly yet steadfastly from her hips to her sides, with the tip of his fingers. He then cupped her breasts as best as he could, his thumbs caressing her hardened nipples. She sighed, as her hands got from his back to his nape and his hair, hanging to them as she felt wet and her heart-beat got faster. She moved slightly upwards and downwards, feeling him getting ready for her. As she felt his erection, she helped him getting towards the wall, letting his back against it. She helped herself letting him inside her with another up-and-down move, his face “moving” from her chest to her face again. He let go a growl, while she bit her lip as she started to move again. She was in control of the rhythm, keeping it regular but more deep as they got on. They kept eye contact all the time, while his hands took care of her at the best: her hips, her buttock, her back, and as she tried to let him thrust against or as close as possible to her G-spot, he moved towards the lowest part of her stomach and directly to her clit. She was the one to let go of a moan, as he decided to join in: his eyes seemed to tell her not to rush things or not to expect too much of herself. He moved his fingers gently, with the same regular tempo, and in tune with her. One of her hands helped him as they both got closer to climax, as he was loosing control and also his grip. He came before her, and while she felt him inside her, she had to help herself to follow up a moment later.

When they got back to themselves, he tried to take back his Black Star T-shirt, but she so gleefully struggled for it that she could do little but let her have it. He finally got to sleep tightly, after concentrating on her and telling her stories of symbolism paintings, lulled by her caresses and her perfume. She got to dream before him, and they both didn't know what was about to happen, and how their life would change forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You carved a boat to sell my shadow" is a line from the song that inspired the beginnings of this fanfic: "Apartment" by Young The Giant.


	3. Banana Pancakes

Peter was woken up by the scent of something cooking: something sweet and buttery, that was getting ready. As he opened his eyes, though, the sweetness in the air turned to the sour perfume of burned sugar and eggs.

Peter stood up and found himself naked. He was not accustomed to be so, not even in his own house, if not in the sacred loneliness of the bathroom to wash himself. Feeling a little bit ashamed of his long gone youth, he got even more aware of his bare skin and his thinness, as he decided to look for something to wear. How could anyone, young or old, be attracted to that? And yet, as he found his boxer briefs, he was reminded of the evening before, of the comfort of staying with Jenna in the kitchen, with only that little cloth he had just found on. As he put the boxers on, his mind turned back to her, in his own T-shirt, her little self showing her curves and forms under a thin layer of cotton.

A little sound made him worry, as it was exactly the kind of grunt he would have made if burning himself while cooking. He got back downstairs and found Jenna by the burner in the kitchen, evidently failing at preparing breakfast. She put aside the pan, that presented a big, half moon shaped, burn. She sighed and growled in frustration, and turned towards him, evidently disappointed that she did suprise him with a failure, and not a successful breakfast.

Peter got to her and cupped her face, caressing her cheeks with a smile. When was the last time he felt that way? Serene, in peace, only wanting to pretend the there was no world outside? Leaning towards her, he kissed the corner of her lips.

«I tried to bake pancakes...» she stated, hugging him tightly, her face on his chest.

«You succeeded in burning them.» he commented, smiling brightly as she punched him at his stomach.

«You're welcome.» she replied, letting him go and sitting on the kitchen's isle.

«Show me what you've got, Scottish lad.» Jenna said. «Without frying anything, of course. That would be too easy.»

He took another pan, butter and the pancake mix she had made. He had the shameless impudence of someone wanting to impress by his own demeanour, not his action: those were already good enough without having to demonstrate their worth. Showing a very confident attitude, he melted some butter on the pan and started to make pancakes.

She got down and tried to take a pick from behind his shoulder, but she was too short to do so.

Peter then presented her the result: the were perfectly cooked, but with very funny shape. There was not even a round pancake. Jenna tried not to laugh, but could not hold herself.

«At least they are edible.» he specified.

«We'll see.» she simply replied.

It started to rain outside, and the sea was getting stormy, as they sat by the isle, eating banana pancakes on a working day.

They exchange and stole each other glances and smiles. Peter saw her jump a little as a thunder stroke the air. He took Jenna's hand, and she intertwined their fingers.

«Don't go. It's raining outside.» she murmured. He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them again. She wanted to ask about his plans, about his wife... but could only strengthen her grip.

«I am staying in Soho, on my own. I needed time to... think.» he explain, as to reply to her silent question. His wife had not called him.

«Then don't go, stay here.» Jenna insisted.

«You said “just for tonight”, yesterday.» he remembered.

Jenna took a breath.

«I lied.» she replied, in a little sigh. «I cannot think of you leaving now.»

The honesty of that sentence struck them both. They studied each other's fingers, finding solace and relaxation in their heartbeats and breaths.

«Will I get my T-shirt back?» he asked after a few moments, with a smirk. She turned her concerned look into a smile.

«Of course not» she declared, almost belligerent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by Jack Johnson's lovely song "Banana pancakes"!


	4. (Elderly Woman Behind A Counter In A) Small Town

They sat at the deserted bar of the hotel. Jenna sat on a stool, with her elegant yet sweet demeanour, in a long dusty pink vintage dress she had bought somewhere in a flea market in Paris. Peter sat in front of her, in a smart casual suit of the perfect shade of blue for his eyes. Underneath his jacket, a white David Bowie T-shirt, with a drawing made from a screenshot of “Life on Mars” video. She had high heels that made her figure more slender, like a lady from Boldini's paintings. He looked like a rock star, that had not turned away his glorious past of riot acts but had embraced a new protest made of poetry, beauty and art, instead of furious rebellion. They were alone, for the barman had left them to finish some work, and wait for the cleaning ladies, since dawn was approaching.

She said something, and he laughed. Two glasses were left, unfinished and forgotten, a few inches from their hands, separated.

«I still can't understand how the whole production did not get our jokes. They took us throughout the night, apparently!» he giggled. She shook her head.

«Because they were terrible, Peter.» she replied, with a big smile on her face.

«And yet... we still laugh.» he said. «But perhaps we laugh for the sake of good old times, not for the joke themselves.»

She looked down for a moment, then looked at him again.

«Do you like conventions, like this one?» she asked.

They had just finished a half-day of interviews, panels and public relations in Seattle, for a big Sci-fi Comic-con. It was held at a convention centre, so that actors and audience could be accommodated in different hotels in the city. They were staying at the Pan Pacific Seattle Hotel, not far front of the Space Needle, and the view from both their room was quite nice. Peter had the Space Needle suite, with a view directly to it, while Jenna had a Balcony Studio Suite. They only had to stay a couple of nights, so the management gave them the best.

«You know I like conventions. We did conventions together before.» he noted.

«Yes, I know, but... you liked Comic-con in San Diego, and the world tour... I mean this kind of little conventions, not the big ones.» she continued.

Peter seemed to think about it for a moment, still puzzled.

«There is no difference, really. The fans are great, they are smart and nice, but some can afford San Diego, some cannot.» he said, shrugging a little. She looked at him like she did many times before: a mixture of admiration and fascination. Some would say with a dreamily look.

«You really didn't let fame change you, did you?» she whispered.

«Not at all.» Peter replied, with a bit of a charmer's look on him, his voice quite low in tone and volume. Then, like it was about to share a big secret, he leaned forward towards her. «Maybe a little, but I try to take the best out of it, and still be me.»

Jenna had felt her heart jump a little, her cheeks flush, but then she giggled desperately: he had that power on her, to embarrass her and then made her laugh so warm-heartedly. Peter seemed to rejoice and pride himself on the effect he had accomplished, so coughed a little.

«Well, we should get a few hours of sleep, or the management will scold us tomorrow.» he said, standing down from the stool and offering her a hand to do the same. «I wouldn't be fair to the fans to be too tired.»

She nodded. Still a professional: they were jet-lagged, so they were not tired at all, but the fans came first, always. Jenna took his hand to stand down and let it go while they chatted along towards the lift. They were so absorbed in their conversation they managed to loose themselves for a few minutes. When they finally got to a big lift on one corner, they pressed the buttons for their floors and waited.

They thought of that day, while it moved downwards, and not upwards.

 

Peter and Jenna had met at the airport earlier that day. She came alone, and so did he: no boyfriends, no wives, no daughters. They greeted the fans after they greeted each other with a big hug. They discovered they were at the same hotel, and were driven there by the same car. Small talk was exchanged, and they felt like old times had come back: Peter and Jenna, promoting their work in the States. And they were, of course, but not as before. The comic-con was nice but small, so they were kept separated until the interview, filmed in a closed meeting room, and then the panel.

The journalist was nervous, and they both decided to make him as comfortable as possible, and managed to create a serene, friendly atmosphere without even discussing to do it or how to. The natural chemistry they always had as colleagues demanded no discussions.

Needless to say that the panel went even better: they answered questions and remembered silly situations and more serious matters of their work together, and exchanged glances and giggle as well. Some people in the audience noticed, but they were used to it of course. Same old, same old.

And yet, even if the fans noticed nothing, there was indeed something new. They felt it, but could not acknowledge it. It seemed that the time that had passed since her leaving the production, since him working with other actors and finally getting to Pearl's assignment, had not touched their relationship, work or personal that it was, and at the same time had changed it completely. At the end of the day, they decided to dine together and to have a drink afterwards: they were alone, so no harm in that, right?

And they dined, and it came out that Jenna and Richard had ended their relationship: she told him that there were no particular hard feelings, they just felt they were not really in love anymore. Meanwhile, Peter told her about Pearl, her performance in the play he had seen of her, and about Cecily's boyfriend – his daughter's boyfriend. He had to confess he was sorry that his wife was really stressed out by her new job, a TV production that seemed so well on the page but struggled to rise. Soon, they found each other talking about cinema, old classic and new promises, literature, the last book they read and to-be-read lists, music... time slipped away, as it often did with them. Their passion flew like a river from their souls to their words, and discovered they had spent all night chatting, and decided to get some sleep, because work was not done yet. This is how they ended up in that lift.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter was very difficult, but in the end I found the song.   
> It is a Pearl Jam song, from the 1993 album Vs. It is very moving and lovely, hope you enjoy it.


	5. Heroes

The light inside the lift was yellow and a little bit low. Dawn was breaking and the lights were programmed to get slowly to turn themselves off as the sun went up. It was quite big but Peter and Jenna did not really take notice of it, not until they had to.

They had noticed the lift was moving down, but as soon as they realised, they could not escape: it was a service lift, and a cleaning lady with a big trolley forced Jenna to squeeze herself in front of Peter, to avoid being crushed down. Her back was against his chest, and the cleaning lady apologised. She told them could not get out, nor wait for the next ride: she was already late, and they nodded in her direction with a awkward smile. The poor lady was so stressed they did not argue, but there was no space to move at all.

Peter had tried to flatten against the wall, and had put his hands against it. Jenna had to push herself against him, and felt every inch of him pressing on her back, every muscle on him tensed up. She could smell his cologne, and feel his breath move her hair slightly on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on something else, but the warmth of his body and the whole day spent together were weighting themselves on her. Peter had closed his eyes too, feeling too aware of her presence against him. He was trying to listen to reason and not to the raging fantasy that his mind was creating. The cleaner was somewhere else entirely, and noticed nothing.

It took forever for the lift to get to the right floor for the cleaning lady, and for them to be released. As the woman and the trolley got out, they both opened their eyes, but Jenna did not move. She reached his right hand with her own and closed her eyes again for a moment as their fingers intertwined. She said nothing, but her heart raced as fast as his. She then opened her eyes again and made him follow her: they were at right floor, after all. They walked on slowly but steadily, not too close but not too far apart from each other. They were almost in a dream state, as they moved towards what they both knew to be her room.

They stopped in front of the door, the magnetic key in Jenna's pocket. She kept her hand in his and turned. The heels, however high they were, did not make her tall enough not to look up at him, but when their eyes met, he tightened the grip on her hand and gently pushed her against the door. She took the key from her pocket and opened it, letting him in.

He closed the door behind him, knowing that there was no return from that point on. They both knew it but nothing could stop them. It was not a desperate force binding them together. It was passion, yes, but also sentiment. It was their relationship getting onwards. There was kindness, and affection.

She stopped for a moment, not figuring out what to do exactly. This was madness. He was a married man, he was her mentor and friend... and yet there was nothing else she wanted in that moment. He offered her his hand in a gentlemanly way, and walked her towards the sofa, against the last glimpse of the night-view and the breaking of the dawn on the city. He let her sit and helped her taking off the shoes, taking great care of her. As she was released from her heels, she stood up again and made him stand. She let her hands under his T-shirt and, on her tiptoes, kissed the right corner of his mouth. She almost felt the shiver down his spine, but definitely noticed his heart trying to escape his ribs. He embraced her and returned that kiss, first on one corner and then on her lips. He had almost thought, at first, that he would have had to do that on set, judging by his predecessor on screen, but there was never a scene like that. It was not like he had imagined it, not at all. Her lips were softer, as her little self, as her flesh and her breasts against him were softer. He could feel the few pieces she wore beneath that dress, but did not force himself to find them as their lips parted and their tongues met, touching first and dancing then, together.

After taking her hand back to the outer side of his T-shirt, she helped him to take his jacket off. Her dress could be taken off with a single move, that she started, but he stopped her. He removed his boots and his socks, and moved her hands back beneath his T-shirt. Part of him was keen on seeing what he had felt against him, underneath her clothing, but a more prominent one cared about her enough to respect her and not rush anything. She pulled the T-shirt off him and put her hands on his chest, and then her forehead, as to bury herself in his chest for a moment.

They did not let this moment stop them. Maybe, if thinking straight for a moment, they would have known it was a mistake: but we will never know. He moved her hands towards his belt, helping him to unbuckle it and to take it off with his trousers. It was she now that opened the small zip of her dress and lead his hands to slip it off herself. He contemplated her for a moment, before kissing her again with a different urge than before, but with the same sentiment infused in it. She led him towards the bed, and when they were almost on it, got rid of the flew pieces of clothing they had on.

The dawn broke as she lay down and he climbed over her. The golden and warm light of the new sun gave them the depths and life of chiaroscuro paintings. Her fingers flew through his curls as he kissed her neck and his hands caressed her. She bit her lip, as his moves became more precise and direct, yet gentlemanly as ever. She hung tightly to his hips as their sexes skimmed each other, inviting him to make that step they could not get back from. He helped himself with his hands first, feeling her wetness against his fingertips and slipping inside her, extorting her a sonorous moan that went down to his core.

He moved gently at first almost slipping out of her, his eyes directly in hers, their foreheads glued to each other and their noses almost battling, as his thrust became quicker and sharper against her and she adjusted to that rhythm. She still bit her lip and he refused to let go of any sound, as in a passion fight, but they both lost as they came, letting out loud groans of pleasure.

He lay beside her, breathless and exhausted as she was, and as they calmed down and they regained themselves, the long day and the wall they had just been destroyed between them, lulled them to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect soundtrack for this one :)


End file.
